The Sixth Family

by Lamothe, Lee

  “Manny said that he knew people, other people, up in Canada, that he could get it [from], but it wasn’t a smart thing to do. … I would assume that they let him know that he was responsible to [the Sixth Family] and that he should do business with them and nobody else.” And so the crummy heroin was ground down to a fine powder to make it look to be of better quality before it could be resold.

  “I was a little surprised that somebody was going to take a kilo of this stuff,” Zita said. It was going to Canada, Zita was told. The story seemed preposterous.

  “Nobody wanted it and it was going to Canada? Come on. Canada? They got the real stuff, you know. This stuff was Mickey Mouse stuff.” The suggestion that inferior heroin could be offloaded to Canadian traffickers was enough to arouse suspicion in any experienced dealer. Sending bad heroin to Canada was like sending wilted tulips to Holland. Zita immediately smelled a rat and he was right. By the time they figured out that their operation had been compromised, however, it was too late.

  It was not long after Ragusa and Nicolucci had arranged their innovative drug scheme that the RCMP stumbled into the middle of it, according to court and police documents. A joint RCMP-FBI investigation was launched. Wiretaps and surveillance were placed on the Big Circle Boys, and the Combined Forces Special Enforcement Unit (CFSEU), a joint anti-mob police team in Canada, loaned an informant—a former criminal named Gino who worked with police for cash—to the FBI. Gino was to infiltrate the distribution end in New York. The operation was called Project Onig—Gino spelled backwards—and it ran from 1991 until 1997.

  When the police operation was brought to a close, a dozen traffickers were arrested in the United States and more than 40 in Calabria, Italy. In New York, several of the Big Circle Boys’ associates and many of LoGiudice’s men—including William Zita—all betrayed their bosses and agreed to cooperate with the government to reduce their own sentences. No one linked to the Sixth Family, however, said a word.

  Onig was an eye-opener for law enforcement officials in several countries. It proved that formerly separate groups, usually suspicious of each other and protective of their turf, had found a way to conduct mutually beneficial criminal operations without violence or jealousy. The reward for such cooperation was enhanced profit.

  Colombian cartels, Hispanic Florida drug gangs, New York mobsters, Sicilian mafiosi, Chinese Triads, the Big Circle Boys, the ’Ndrangheta, the Hells Angels—all were working seamlessly with the Sixth Family, an organization that had grown into a truly global criminal enterprise. Across the United States, court files were being littered with references to members of the clans of the Sixth Family. No one, however, seemed to be pulling it together to realize that these cases involving New York, Florida, Pennsylvania, Los Angeles, Buffalo, Detroit, Italy, Colombia, Montreal and Toronto were not disparate strands but, rather, part of a single organization based in Canada, where it was largely immune to the increasing efforts of American law enforcement to crush the Mafia. Few fully recognized the growing influence of the Sixth Family on international affairs and fewer still understood that what was once a small, outpost of subservient gangsters had grown into an independent and powerful entity that could hold its own in any underworld, on any continent.

  “The most significant aspect of this investigation was in the revealing of the depth of cooperation between [Mafia] groups and other major organized crime groups,” says an FBI report on the success of Project Onig. The Bureau pointed to the investigation as a landmark probe against international organized crime.

  The only disappointment from Project Onig for the FBI, the report notes, was that Emanuele Ragusa, one of the prime targets of the operation, remained in Canada, beyond their grasp. Unlike Manno, when this enterprise collapsed, Ragusa managed to escape.

  Emanuele Ragusa was born on October 20, 1939, in Cattolica Eraclea. Like so many of the Sixth Family, he emigrated to Canada and settled comfortably in Montreal where he mingled with mafiosi in both the Rizzuto family and the Caruana-Cuntrera clan. Police on three continents would document his ties to both families.

  Italian authorities say they have been trying to get their hands on Ragusa for years. In 1983, he was convicted in absentia for his role in a drug-trafficking scheme tied to Francesco Mafara, a Sicilian Man of Honor who, in 1977, was among the first to sell heroin from refineries in Sicily. Mafara confessed to his involvement as a top heroin man and was murdered shortly afterward by some of the mobsters he betrayed. Italian police also noted that Ragusa had been found in the home of Giuseppe Cuffaro, the money launderer, with Leonardo Caruana, the mafioso who shuttled between Montreal and Sicily. Alfonso Caruana and his wife, Giuseppina, also used a cellular telephone with a Montreal area code that was registered in Ragusa’s name. On November 11, 1993, when Venezuelan police raided the Caruanas’ villa they found an invoice for Ragusa’s cellphone, according to the Italian government.

  In 1996, Ragusa, at age 56, was sentenced to 12 years in prison in Canada for a conspiracy to import drugs—a charge unrelated to the Project Onig case. It was his first criminal conviction in Canada. In prison, officials took note that the RCMP had declared him an important leader in the Sicilian Mafia with many years of close association with the Rizzutos. As a mitigating factor, it was noted that he had never been linked to crimes of violence.

  During his incarceration, Ragusa faced down two extradition requests, first from the United States for the Project Onig conspiracy, and later from the Italians for Mafia association. Prison officials were alerted to the U.S. extradition request in April 1998. Despite that, he was allowed out on day parole a month later to perform community service at the Mission Bon Accueil, a Montreal charitable shelter for the homeless. Supervisors at the shelter were pleased with his work until they noticed steaks were missing. A search found two slabs of meat in Ragusa’s bag. He was asked not to return to the shelter. He later faced stern denunciation from members of the National Parole Board for the “immoral” act of stealing from the disadvantaged people he was supposed to be helping. While he was slapped on the wrist for the steak heist, his greater concern of a U.S. extradition was settled in his favor when it was ruled that the American case was too circumstantial to merit his being sent to New York, according to government documents.

  Just as that was being resolved, however, the Italian government joined the queue to get a piece of Ragusa. The courts in Italy were prepared to imprison him for Mafia association. In true Sixth Family style, this, too, ended in his favor when a court ruled that the Italian request be denied because, at the time, Mafia association was not a crime in Canada, according to Ragusa’s parole records.

  During his stay in prison, Ragusa was rarely a problem prisoner, although guards once found him with a stash of 66 packets of cigarettes hidden in his cell, suggesting either an entrepreneurial streak or a tobacco addiction. He rebuffed suggestions by the authorities that he was a mafioso, declaring to parole officials that he was erroneously associated with the Mafia because of his Italian ancestry. Officials, however, noted his close personal ties to the Sixth Family. Parole records cite the marriage of Ragusa’s daughter to Vito’s son, Nick, going so far as to say: “Your son-in-law is the son of the reported chief of the Sicilian Mafia in Montreal.” Ragusa was denied permission in 2000 for a leave from prison to participate in the baptism of his grandchild, the offspring of his daughter and Vito’s son, on the grounds that Vito would also be participating in the service. Another important family event, a wedding, caused Ragusa problems as well.

  On July 12, 2002, prison officials were informed that Ragusa’s son, Pat, was getting married the next day to Elena Tortorci, a woman whose family, not surprisingly, is from Cattolica Eraclea. The cream of the Sixth Family had been invited, including Vito, his father, Nick, and Agostino Cuntrera. Prison staff found that Ragusa had requested and received a pass for a temporary absence for that day. Suspicious officials questioned him about his plans for his leave before his departure. Ragusa said he had nothing special in m
ind; he was going to stay at home and relax. Police and prison security agents secretly monitored the wedding and noted Ragusa among the guests, trying to duck out of wedding photos. That night, while the wedding reception was in full swing, police stopped by Ragusa’s house and found it in darkness. No one answered their knock at the door. Ragusa later admitted that he had deliberately kept his son’s wedding from prison officials for fear of not being allowed to attend, as he had been refused two years earlier when he requested permission to attend the baptism.

  Disappointed prison officials then canceled future passes, keeping him in prison until his statutory release—a questionable law in Canada that automatically lets nonviolent prisoners out of prison after serving only two-thirds of their sentence. On November 11, 2004, the National Parole Board ordered him to provide officials with statements of income and expenses during his release to allow some monitoring of his activities. Having previously handed parole officials a psychiatric evaluation that said he was suffering from “burnout” from criminal activities and saying he was finished with crime, he planned to use his freedom to work in a corner store.

  Despite published reports that Ragusa was the Emanuele who allegedly joined Vito in gunning down the three captains in 1981, there has been no known attempt by American authorities to request his extradition to face trial on the matter.

  The FBI’s interest in Ragusa and other Canadians allegedly involved in the intrigue of the Bonanno Family is evident in an internal note from March 2004, after another debriefing session by agents of Frank Lino. Titled “Canadian Pictures,” the report says that Lino was shown a photograph of Ragusa and asked about him.

  “[Lino] did not know Emanuele Ragusa’s name but remembered meeting him. [Lino] did not recall whether he had met him in Canada or the United States.”

  Because of the Onig informant and the cross-border police cooperation, Ragusa’s Sixth Family venture faltered; such failure, however, was rare. Ragusa, Manno, Sciortino—police were able to pick away at the edges of the Sixth Family but the core remained intact. The organization, as a whole, was flush with success.

  With each successful shipment, each new enterprise and every new revenue stream, their resources swelled, their abilities grew and their strength increased. Fewer and fewer organizations were capable of mounting a challenge. As long as the money kept flowing, there was little need for more wars. And the money did flow, in great gushing streams; which, of course, can create problems of its own.

  CHAPTER 29

  LUGANO, SWITZERLAND, AUGUST 1994

  Through a narrow opening in the facade of the cobblestoned waterfront streets of Lugano, guests staying in just the right rooms of the Hotel Nassa Garni have a pleasing view of the cerulean waters of Lake Lugano. The city is nestled low on the south-facing shore and framed on both sides by the heavily wooded sub-alpine peaks of San Salvatore and Monte Brè. Beyond them are the snowcapped peaks of the Alps. That backdrop contrasts nicely with the bright terracotta rooftops of the city’s old buildings, blessing Lugano with views tailor-made for postcards and travel brochures.

  This scenery, however, can be better viewed from better hotels. The Hotel Nassa Garni is a modest three-star facility that must have had one of its stars affixed merely for its location, being on Via Nassa, the heart of Lugano’s shopping district and in the midst of a stretch sometimes called “the luxury mile.” On this surprisingly narrow street, meticulously maintained stores offering the famous Italian fashion brands of Armani, Gucci and Versace vie for the wallets of passing visitors with equally tidy stores offering famous Swiss luxury watch brands such as Breguet, Patek Philippe and TAG Heuer. That blend of culture typifies Lugano. In the southernmost canton of Switzerland, lying just 14 miles north from its border with Italy, the largely Italian-speaking city boasts wide piazzas, tree-lined promenades and relaxed cafés, giving it a decidedly Mediterranean flavor and making it a popular destination for travelers from Italy.

  It was the Hotel Nassa Garni where Libertina Rizzuto, the doting mother of Vito and faithful wife of Nick, checked in on August 31, 1994, after arriving alone on a connecting flight from Montreal. It was not for the shopping, however, that she had come to Lugano. Like most visitors, the stores and the views were mere trappings for Libertina; the real reason Lugano consistently attracted a wealthy clientele was that, despite a population of less than 50,000, it maintained more than 100 full-service banks. This gave the city one of the highest banks-per-capita rates in the world, more than twice that of Zurich.

  On the evening of her arrival, after checking into the hotel, Libertina walked around the corner and across the Plaza Carlo Battaglini to the seven-story Hotel Excelsior. At the time, the Excelsior, a waterfront property with tasteful lakeside palms, was the finer of the two hotels, known for its spectacular view of the waterfront and its lounge’s well-stocked bar.

  In front of the Excelsior, as had been arranged, she met Luca Giammarella, a 47-year-old Montreal Realtor who lived directly across the road from Nick and Libertina on Antoine-Berthelet Avenue. The Rizzuto and Giammarella families had been close for more than a decade and Nick and Libertina showed that familiarity and affection by always calling Luca Giammarella by a nickname—“Nino.” Giammarella arrived in Lugano the day before Libertina, having flown from Montreal to Milan and then taking the popular 90-minute train ride across the border, arriving at Lugano’s train station, which overlooks the town from the west. Once in Switzerland’s third-largest banking center, he checked into Room 415 of the Excelsior.

  That evening, as the tourist season was waning, Libertina and Giammarella met to discuss the best way for them to retrieve the contents of an account in a private Swiss bank. After agreeing to meet outside the Credit Suisse Trust the next afternoon, they bade each other good night and Libertina returned to her room in the Nassa.

  Shortly after 2 p.m. on September 1, 1994, Libertina met Giammarella again, this time in front of the modern offices of the Credit Suisse Trust, a branch of the century-old bank. It is a meandering one-and-one-half-mile walk or a short taxi ride to the bank from the Hotel Nassa; slightly less from the Excelsior.

  “I met Nino in front of the Credit Suisse bank and I went inside. Nino had a small plastic handbag in which he would have put all the money we could withdraw in cash,” Libertina said, shortly after her visit to the bank. “If the operation had worked, I would have deposited the money in another bank in Lugano.”

  The neat modern offices of the Credit Suisse Trust are just a few hundred yards from the waterfront and staffed by 16 employees skilled in the diverse languages and banking requirements of its international clientele. It is one of those storied Swiss banks, the fodder for many a movie and novel, one offering, as it advertises, “a full range of fiduciary and administrative services,” specializing in “setting up and administering offshore companies, Anglo Saxon Trusts, Panama and Liechtenstein Foundations, holding bankable and non-bankable assets.”

  It was here that Giammarella maintained account No. 312413, opened on May 25, 1988. On the day of Libertina and Giammarella’s visit to Lugano, the account maintained a balance of 820,000 Swiss francs, worth about US$718,000 at the time.

  Inside the Credit Suisse branch, Giammarella—his blue bag in hand—said he wished to close the account and to have the balance turned over in cash, Swiss authorities were told. A banking representative asked him about the bag that he carried and he said he was going to stuff the cash in it and take it with him. The banker asked him to wait in a small room for another official.

  “In the bank, Nino learned that the directors would not give him the money in cash, whereby he asked—at my suggestion—that they give him two checks in my name,” Libertina later said.

  “A few moments later,” Giammarella added, “the police arrived and they accompanied me and Mrs. Rizzuto to the Lugano police station.”

  Libertina Rizzuto and Luca Giammarella were kept apart in police custody, after being escorted to the Lugano police headquarters, and it
was a little before 4:30 p.m. when Inspector D. Bianchi entered one interrogation room, where he greeted Libertina, and Inspector Renato Pagani entered another to interview Giammarella. When the two officers later emerged from their questioning and compared their notes they found striking contradictions.

  “A week ago, my husband and I decided that I should come to Lugano to withdraw all the money in an account under the name of our close friend Luca Giammarella—who is also a resident of Canada—but in fact is our property,” Libertina said, in Italian, according to a transcript of her interrogation made by Swiss authorities. She explained that she had arranged to meet Giammarella at the bank and was in the midst of a simple financial transaction when they were arrested.

  The money, she insisted, was the proceeds from the family’s legitimate business holdings in Venezuela—primarily from powdered milk, cheese, industrial chicken production and furniture manufacturing. She and her husband, Nick, had asked for the money to be deposited in Giammarella’s name about 10 years earlier for business reasons, she told police. They now wanted to clean up their financial affairs.

  “He had to deposit the money because he wanted to declare it in Canada,” she said. “I came to Lugano to withdraw our money from Giammarella’s account, leave it here [in another bank] and inform the Canadian government that it was here, to pay the taxes, on the day my husband was to receive his Canadian residency.” Her husband could not come to do the transfer himself, she said, because he was ill and unable to travel.